Self Deception
by SolitaryPoison
Summary: Rupert Giles.The last person to have skeletons in his closet? Wrong. As the First begins his asault on the slayer Rupert meets the son he never knew. But is anyone ready for the changed Harry Potter? Family history comes to light...SLASH
1. Come with me kid, we'll leave this place

Disclaimer:I own only what I created, balh, blah, blah...

Warnings:Child abuse, rape, SLASH and it hink that's it for now

Pairings:Harry/Spike(?) Buffy/Angel, Willow/Kennedy, other canon ones.

Another new story! Eech! But I HAD to write this. I love HP/BTVS x-overs. Don't know how regular my updating will be though.

Also I've messed with the time lines to bring everything to now so Harry was born in 1988, and Buffy came to Sunnydale in 1998. i'll have to fiddle with Giles' age a bit aswell I think. Sorry but I need it to fit

**Number 4, Private Drive, Surrey, England. 00:00am ,Friday ,July 31st, 2005**

It was midnight. He could hear the grandfather clock in the hallway, tick, tock, tick, tock, then twelve chimes. He didn't move from his spot in the middle of the basement, didn't uncurl from the protective ball he had curled himself into hours before. He could no longer feel the blood running from his eyes, his mouth, his chest, his-. No! He didn't want to think about that.

He didn't open his eyes. They were caked with blood that had dried, sealing his eyelids shut. His vision would have been hazy anyway, as much as a blur as his mind was. He barely realized he had turned 17. Barely cared. He had waited for years for it to happen, but now it seemed such a small thing, so inconsequential.

His being 17 wouldn't change the fact that he was locked in a basement where the air was so fetid he could hardly breathe, wouldn't stop him being tortured and raped everyday by the people he should call family, wouldn't stop a madman and his followers from trying to kill him again. It wouldn't even make him taller.

He shivered slightly and curled up tighter, then shivered again, far more violently. He suddenly felt an itch on his back, on his leg, everywhere, and he scratched and scratched to no avail, only managing to shred his own skin with suddenly lethally sharp fingernails. Then he felt a tingling ache in his head that spread throughout his body, before it flared into a pain that rivalled the cruciatus curse. And the heat, oh god the heat, burned the air around him until he felt like he was in the middle of a raging inferno, trapped in the depths of hell itself.

The heat was overwhelming. It seeped into his skins, his bones, _help me, I'm burning_, boiling his blood so it scorched through his veins. His body writhed in a bloody mass on the stained floorboards, contorting in ways that didn't seem possible. And, oh, he screamed, screamed so long and so loud that he could scarcely recall a time when his ears weren't ringing with the wretched sound. When it stopped, _thank god it stopped,_ he could do nothing but lay in a quivering, sobbing, broken heap and wait for blessed unconsciousness to claim him. He didn't have to wait long.

What he didn't know was that all over Britain people sensitive to magic woke up with a start as they felt a flood of power rush through them. What he also didn't know was that 2 floors above him, on the landing of number 4 Private Drive, a fire had spontaneously started and was spreading throughout the house burning everything in it's path, whether wood, metal, or bone. 

At least, he didn't know until he was found by a fireman an hour later, who had followed the trail of blood that led down into the dank depths of the basement.

* * *

**Bath, England, 18:00pm,Tuesday, 4th August, 2005**

"Mr Giles! Phone!" Rupert Giles sighed, carefully placed the book mark onto the page, and closed the book. He walked quickly to the phone, taking it off Kennedy, all the while wondering who would be phoning him.

"Hello, Rupert Giles speaking."

"Good morning Mr Giles. I am Caroline Iyland, a social worker. I apologise for phoning unannounced but I have an urgent matter that I need to discuss with you."

"Please excuse me a second." Rupert put his hand over the phone speaker and turned to the three girls hovering near him. "Could you please wait in the lounge girls? It's a private conversation." Slowly, and with many a glance back, the three potential slayers left the room and Rupert put the phone back to his ear.

"I apologise for the wait Ms Iyland, please continue."

"You once dated a woman named Lily Evans did you not?"

He stared at a dirty patch on wall, trying to ignore the flashes of a beautiful red haired, green eyed girl that exploded into his mind.

"Yes, that is correct."

"Were you aware that you had a son, Mr Giles?"

It was not the question he had been expecting. It had been so long since anyone had even mentioned his past that he was frozen in shock. But a son…She'd never told him whether it was a boy or a girl.

"I was aware that Lily was pregnant," He answered, "Though I have never met the child. I have not spoken with his mother in years."

"Have? Ahh, I regret to inform you Mr Giles that Lily Potter Nee Evans passed away 16 years."

Silence. Rupert didn't know what to say. The social worker cleared her throat, disturbing the uncomfortable silence.

"Well, to get to the point, Lilly had a son, your son. Until now he had been staying with his mothers adoptive family but they all died in an unexplained fire in their house four nights ago. I have been trying to find a relative ever since."

Rupert felt the urge to clean his glasses, but instead asked a question.

"What is his name?

"Harry, or rather Harrison. Harrison James Potter."

Potter…so whoever Lily married had given her son his name as well.

"Harry turned 17 on the night of the fire. While he might be able to live without a relative he doesn't have full access to his inheritance until he is 18, and he is not truly and adult in the eyes of the law."

The Watcher suddenly understand why she was calling.

"You want me to become his Legal Guardian."

"You are the only relative we can find Mr Giles, though we are aware that you have had no contact with Harry. We are not even sure if he knows that James Potter was not his father. But if you will not consent Harry will become a Ward of the Court."

Rupert closed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. He knew that he couldn't accept Guardianship. In two days he was leaving for Sunnydale with the three potential slayers Who knew what would happen in the days that were to come? It would be far to dangerous for a 17 year old, especially since Harry would have no idea about the existence of demons and such. And yet, there was a part of him that wanted to say yes. A part of him that wanted to meet his only child, his son, the child of the woman he had loved more than anything. And that part was growing stronger by the second.

It was almost without his will, as if he had been possessed by a strange creature, that he opened his mouth and answered.

* * *

**St. Anns Hospital, Surrey, 21:00pm, Same day**

It was late when they finally finished the journey from Bath to Surrey. Annabelle and Molly were sleeping in the back, while Kennedy was sat staring out of the window. They all jerked to attention when Rupert switched of the ignition, Molly and Annabelle groaning and stretching.

"Why are we here again?" Kennedy asked, her face fixed in a bored scowl.

"I have a personal matter to attend to." Rupert answered.

"At a hospital?" Kennedy inquired.

"Yes, at a hospital. That is why we drove for two hours to get here."

"It better be important," She grumbled under her breath.

Important? That would be an understatement, thought Rupert as he got out of the car.

"You can all stay here if you-"

"No!" Molly interrupted. "We'll come with you."

Rupert nodded in acquiescence. All three of the girls were jumpy, with an understandable dislike of being left alone. The death of their watchers had hit them hard. The absolute brutality of the murders had hit them even worse.

"Who are you here to see?" Annabelle asked curiously.

Rupert spoke two words he had never thought to say. "My son."

He stood outside the door to the room his son was in. Despite it being late, he didn't have to worry about disturbing anyone. Due to the nature of Harry's wounds, a nature the doctor had yet to explain, the hospital thought it best for him not to have to share. But still Rupert didn't enter.

He blinds were pulled down so he couldn't see in through the windows, couldn't have a look at his son before he met him. His son…Only since his deployment to Sunnydale had he been able to got through a day without thinking about the child he would never know, the child Lily wouldn't let him know. Even then both the child and Lily were on his mind often. He spent hours thinking of what her life was like, and even longer thinking about their child.

Did it have Lily's green eyes or his pale blue? Her red hair or his dark brown? Her loving, carefree fiery nature, or his more sedate but rebellious temperament? Did it resemble him at all? He was about to find out, but now, he wished more than anything that he could put it off. God only knows what he was going to say…Harry probably didn't even know that the man he thought was his father wasn't, and who was he to turn his son's life upside down?

But he couldn't leave England without seeing him at least once, without giving him the chance to chose. So he gathered his courage and opened the door.

Surprisingly, the first thing that caught his attention was the heart monitor. Instead of a slow, steady beat, it was abnormally fast, the heart rate sparking far more often than was normal. Then he noticed the wires attached to the body, and the breathing ventilator over the mouth that said his son couldn't breathe well on his own. Only then did he fully notice his son.

Rupert was shocked at how small the boy looked, curled up in the foetal position in the middle of a single bed that looked far too large for him. Then he noticed the gauntness of his face, obvious malnutrition, and the stark paleness of his skin. Then with anger he saw the hand shaped bruise on his son's cheek, the only part of him visible. The rest of Harry's face was covered in sleek black hair, tinted with red.

He crept closer to the bed, then as an afterthought picked up the clipboard that was on the table. His anger spiked dangerously high as he read: Evidence of multiple broken bones, internal bleeding, numerous bruises and cuts (some infected), second degree burns to hands, severe malnutrition, mental state deemed to most likely be precarious.

Rupert put the clipboard, hands shaking, and he reached out to his son, pushing the hair out of his face. Harry flinched and whimpered in his sleep, moving away.

He studied his son's face in wonder. Hidden behind bruises he could see high cheekbones, courtesy of Lily, red lips, thick lashes, and a strange lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He wondered what colour Harry's eyes were.

He turned as someone knocked on the door, and a woman, around mid-thirties, entered, a briefcase in one hand.

"Hello, I'm Caroline Iyland. We spoke on the phone."

"Rupert Giles," He replied shaking the outstretched hand.

"Well, I guess we should talk in the waiting room."

Giles nodded and, with a look back at Harry, left the room, quietly closing the door. They sat down in the deserted waiting room and the social worker looked at him expectantly, but when he said nothing she cleared her throat and began to speak.

"The doctor has said that Harry is healing abnormally fast. The internal injuries all seem to have healed, as have the broken bones. Of course, some of the injuries were old and therefore already mostly healed, but others were a day or to old at the most. The doctors are baffled but happy. Since the majority of his wounds are now only superficial they say that, while they would rather him stay, they will discharge him tomorrow as long as he receives weekly check ups until he is pronounced fully healed."

Her expression suddenly turned sad and pitying. "The doctor also advised that your son receive psychological help. The abuse he suffered, which is almost definitely from his own family, is extensive and the doctors have reason to believe that he may have been…raped."

Rupert sucked in a breath. Why Lily? Why did you believe them preferable to me? Why didn't you tell me of my son?

"Since the Dursley's are dead no charges will be filled so he is able to leave the country without delay, so as I said on the phone, he will be able to leave with you to America. That is, of course, if you will take responsibility for him."

Rupert nodded. There was no way he could leave without his son. There was so much he needed to make up to him. And he had spent years waiting for this. Of course, there was just the question of Harry's schooling and whether he would want to go to America. While in England mandatory school was until the age of 16, in America most people went to school until they were 17 or 18. Giles wasn't sure that he wanted his only child to got to Sunnydale High. He knew from experience that a school built on a hellmouth was trouble for everyone and Sunnydale High held a lot of bad memories. He sighed. Harry might want to stay in England anyway. There was no point in thinking about the small details until they had spoken.

"Where does Harry attend school?"

Miss Iyland frowned. "We're not actually sure. Neighbours say that he attends a boarding school, St Brutis', but we can find no record of him attending school after he left Junior school. He seems to have completely slipped off the radar."

He took off his glassed and ran a cloth over them, frowning. It should be impossible not to attend school without the Education authorities paying you a visit and yet no visit had been made. He got the feeling that he was missing something. Too many things about his son were unexplained. But he signed all the right papers, received Harry's passport and documents that had been found in the basement and, after checking that the girls were still safe in the canteen, went back in to see his son.

This time when he entered the room Harry was sat up in bed, drinking a glass of water. His eyes snapped up and he instinctively shrunk back, but then his brain overrode his impulse and he straightened.

They both stared. Stared at each other for an impossibly long time, before Rupert cleared his throat and looked away.

"Do you…know?" The watcher asked, wincing internally at how stupid the question sounded. Harry nodded warily, green eyes uncertain and cautious.

"The social worker explained it. She showed me my birth certificate and everything so…" They were both silent, both uncomfortable. Harry fiddled with his bed sheet, Rupert with his glasses.

"I...I have formally taken over your guardianship." The older man said, making Harry look at him suddenly. "I will be leaving to return to America tomorrow, I've been living there for a few years. It will, of course, be your choice as to whether you join us but we would be extremely happy for you to come."

"We?" Harry asked.

"I'm escorting three girls over to stay with a friend of mine."

Harry thought about it. He thought about retuning to Hogwarts where he was constantly in danger, returning to be manipulated and lied to and used. He thought about the Wizarding world where he was held high on a pedestal, a hero destined to become a martyr. And he thought of the friends who would never understand, who couldn't understand, who smothered him, and treated him like a porcelain doll who would break from the littlest thing.

Then he thought of a new country, a new start. He thought of the father he never knew existed, the father who wanted him. And though it would be hard to hide his magic, to practice in secret, he knew the answer.

"I'll come."


	2. i hate this house, how sad it makes you

Disclaimer:I own only what I created, blah, blah, blah...

Warnings:Child abuse, rape, SLASH and I think that's it for now

Pairings:Harry/Spike(?) Buffy/Angel, Willow/Kennedy, other canon ones.

**I was soooo surprised at the amount of reviews I got last chapter. I'm glad so many people like it.**

**You would not believe how much research I did for this chapter! I had to look up Buffy's house, the time difference between England and California, how long it takes to get to California (which I couldn't find) and I tried to look up the American school system. I failed.**

**_Important: _So I have to ask for your help. Since I'm English and have never been to America I have no idea how anything works over there except from what I've seen on TV. And since it's TV, I'm guessing a lot of it's rubbish. So if anyone is from America I'm gonna need help with a few things. But for now I need to know about the American School System. Specifically Secondary school (or High school as I think it's called). Things like what ages you go to the school, what classes are usually there, names of the years( like we have year 5 but over there I think it's 5th Grade, and stuff to do with being freshman (?) ) I get quite confused. So, any help is appreciated.**

**Number 4, Private Drive, Surrey, England. 00:23pm Wednesday, 5th August, 2005**

It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time to get ready to leave England. An extra ticket had been ordered, the hospital had been informed of Harry's self-discharge and Harry and the potential slayers had been introduced, albeit with a modicum of distrust and dislike. The only thing left to do was to get Harry's stuff. And that meant going back to Private Drive.

The house was no longer strictly out of bounds. The luminous police tape was gone, the reporters and emergency services had left days ago, and it was strangely peaceful. But eerie, definitely eerie. It was no longer the pristine cage that Harry remembered it being. The top floor windows had been shattered by the strength of the fire that had crashed through the house, showing the scorched interior and unrecognisable ashes of things he had once known.

The outside wall was black as well, from where the fire had eaten its way out of the windows, greedily guzzling the limitless supply of oxygen that was outside. The bricks had somehow melted, and the wall was a mass of twisted lumps and blackened brick. Even the garden looked different. The perfect lawn and beautiful flowers had been showered in black, white and grey flakes, with warped shards of shattered glass trampled into the ground by the many feet that had traipsed over the garden.

Harry looked at the front door. White, clean and no different to how it had always looked. He didn't want to go in. The memories were far too strong. He flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder, then half smiled sheepishly as he turned to so Rupert next to him. "Sorry." He whispered. Whispered because it was night and there were no stars, no moon, no noise, nothing. Because he knew that if the silence was splintered so might be his calm, and he didn't want that.

"You don't have to do this." His father said quietly. "Everything can be replaced" Harry shook his head, taking a step forward. "No. It can't." And after a few deep breaths his legs that felt like lead slowly began to move, every step bringing him closer to the place he didn't want to be. He almost ran, his muscles tensed and ready to spring, but he pushed down his instinctive thoughts of fleeing and carried on. It felt like an age had passed when he finally reached the door. It had only taken 10 seconds.

He gently pushed the door open with a shaking hand, not really noticing that it hadn't been shut. Then, his heart beating much too fast, he entered the place that had been his personal Azkaban.

Truly, the hallway didn't look too bad. The fire strangely hadn't spread downstairs, and the only disturbances were from the police and fire fighters that hadn't taken the time to straighten up the things they knocked over. Harry almost laughed. How Petunia would have screamed… He saw other rooms as he walked. The lounge, the bathroom, the cupboard under the stairs, they all looked as they had, preserved in a time warp that would not be disturbed until someone new moved in. Harry wondered vaguely who the house belonged to. The bank probably, considering how submerged in debt the Dursleys were.

It was only as he neared the next door that the cold detachment started to slip away, no matter how hard Harry grabbed at it, and begged and pleaded for it to come back. Instead he was filled with an all encompassing terror that seeped right into his bones and made his blood freeze and his pupils dilate with fear. His entire body started to shake, and his breath came in quick, short gasps, like a drowning man who had just broken through the surface of the deceptively calm water. He could feel his pulse beating, in his neck, his wrist, his leg, his head… he didn't hear the voice urgently calling his name. Instead, almost in a trance, he opened the door and descended into the dark, cold, familiar basement.

Memories assaulted his mind, ripping their way from his subconscious and dancing in front of his eyes, almost solid. It was with great effort that he wrenched his mind back to the present. He looked behind him to see his father watching him worriedly, his glasses doing nothing to hide the anxiety in his eyes. Harry glanced back to the blood stained floor that was only a few steps away and made a decision.

"Go back up." He whispered, his voice shaky and child like.

"Excuse me?" His father said, surprised.

"Go back up." Harry repeated, louder this time, with a stronger resolve and barely a quiver in his voice. "I have to do this alone."

"Harry-"

"I have to!" Harry said sharply, cutting off his father. The man stared at him intently before slowly, and unhappily, nodding his head. "I'll be right up the top of the stairs." He said. "Just call if you need me."

Harry nodded, strangely grateful, and as he heard footsteps ascend the stairs, getting further away, he took the last few steps down.

He had almost expected the floor to be slippery when he put his foot down, wet and slick with his blood, but it had dried to give the floorboards a red crust. He could see the place he had laid. There was more blood there than anywhere else, so he avoided it completely, heading to the box where he had frantically hid the things that meant the most to him. His school trunk had been destroyed, along with most of the things in it, and his wand had been snapped he knew. But he had managed to rescue a few things first, and as he lifted and moved boxes, he found the one that held his possessions.

It was one of the smaller boxes and he knew that it would never be looked in by the white sticky label with a name written on in neat handwriting. Lily's Childhood Things. It was a box full of old toys and books, dolls and cards. Harry had looked through it many a time when he had been left in the basement on his own, and from the dust gathered on and in it the first time he found it, he knew that it was avoided.

Harry opened it almost reverently, and slowly started taking out the things within, holding them for a few seconds, thinking of when his mother would have held them, then placed them gently on the floor. It didn't take him long to reach the bottom of the box and when he did he removed his things and repacked it, before moving all the boxes back. It occurred to him that he needn't bother, but it was an old routine that offered him a little comfort.

"Hello my Harry, I've missed you." Harry jumped and gasped, the silvery invisibility cloak slipping through his fingers onto the floor, the photo album falling out of his grasp, moving photos fluttering in the still air. He turned to look at the speaker, and stood frozen, staring in disbelief.

"Aren't you happy to see me son?" His mother said, voice hurt and sad, reaching out a hand to him beseechingly. Harry flinched, stumbling backwards, shaking his head.

"Harry?" The red headed, green eyed lady said, taking a step closer. But the voice was just a bit colder, the tone a scant bit more harsh, barely enough to notice. But Harry had survived this long by noticing such things.

"You're not my mother!" he said, surprising both of them with his anger. His mother watched him, head cocked to the side, eyes and face alternating between hard and soft, hateful and loving. Eventually, it straightened proudly and chose an emotion.

"No." It agreed, "I'm not" And the beautiful face of his mother twisted in a perverse and dark grin, eyes brimming with hate and anger and arrogance.

Harry took another step back. "What are you?"

The impostor laughed, and it sounded like someone scrapping their nails down a chalkboard. "I? I child, am evil itself." And the body changed. Harry suddenly wished it had stayed with his mothers form.

"But then," the thing continued, voice low and gruff, "you always knew that."

Harry stared into the face of his uncle and abruptly desired that a hole in the Earth would swallow him up. It didn't matter that he knew that it wasn't really his uncle, didn't matter that the form was oddly transparent, all that mattered was the fat meaty hands curled into fists, the brown eyes full of sadism and lust, and that familiar leering grin, that promised more pain than his body would be able to take, such pain that his mind wouldn't survive it.

Maybe his mind hadn't survived his uncle's torture. Maybe that was why he was seeing things.

"Oh no boy," It sneered, "You're not insane yet, but you will be when I'm done with you." And as it stalked towards him, eyes seeming to mentally undress the young wizard, Harry screamed the first word that came into his frightened, terror filled mind.

"Dad!"

The Thing stopped in surprise and spun round as footsteps sounded on the stairs. The Thing and Rupert stared at each other, and the Thing grinned, gave one last, leering look at Harry, and then disappeared.

**British Airways Plane, 2nd Class, over Sunnydale, California, 20:01 pm, Same day**

Rupert looked over to his son, who was sleeping fitfully, his head leaning against the window. He had refused to talk about what had happened back in England, barely even acknowledged it had happened. But it had. He had seen it himself. He remembered what Annabelle had told him, that she had seen her dead sister in the few days before her watchers murder. Her sister had spoken to her, warned her that evil was coming and that Anna would die a dreadful death along with all those she loved. The other two potentials, spurred on by Anna's tale, spoke of the same thing. He sighed. The council had spoken to him and he knew what it was they were fighting. But what would the First Evil want with his son?

Rupert was not arrogant enough to believe that the First just wanted to get to him. He was just a watcher. No, it had wanted Harry, wanted to scare him, but why? He hadn't told Anna, Molly and Kennedy what had happened for they were scared already, but he would tell the Scooby gang when he reached Sunnydale.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a voice and he noticed the seatbelt sign was lit. He put his seatbelt on, and then did the same for Harry, before turning to check the girls. 15 minutes later they were back on the ground and he gently woke Harry, frowning when the boy flinched away.

"We're here." He said in way of explanation. Harry looked at him, confused, before the sleepy haze bled from his eyes and he nodded in understanding. "What time is it?" Harry asked, looking at the darkening sky form the window. "Eight in the evening." Rupert replied. "It was a long flight, and there is a large time difference, around 12 hours."

"It feels as if I haven't seen the sun in years." Harry mumbled, though Rupert heard.

"Well, you were unconscious for three days, slept for most of the next day and slept through the daylight hours on the flight."

"And before that I was in the basement, for however long that was. A week or two I think." He murmured to himself. He missed the sun

They filed out of the plane and onto a cramped bus that would take them to the arrival lounge. Harry tried to touch as few people as possible, staying as close to his father as he could. They all, minus Harry, grabbed their luggage and trudged out of the airport, the girls whispering excitedly about being in America and seeing something called the Slayer. Rupert just frowned at them and told them to be quieter. Harry could see the barely suppressed unease in his eyes.

It was obvious, too, in the way the older man constantly looked around, peering into the shadows, eyes constantly flitting behind glasses. They all looked to the Watcher as he cursed lightly, and Harry raised an eyebrow as the man blushed. "I forgot to order a taxi." He said sheepishly.

"Is it that far away?" Harry asked, wondering why the girls suddenly looked scared. They all turned to him, and his father frowned. "It is not far," He admitted, "But it isn't safe to walk around at this time of night."

Harry looked at him funnily. "It's only 8, not late at all really."

"And yet there's barely anyone around" Molly said. They all looked around, and Harry saw she was right. All the Taxis had left, packed with the people that had been on the flight. And that had not been many. He could see no one else around. Harry felt a flash of fear, but then he felt his magic swirl comfortingly within him, and he remembered that he was never truly defenceless, not now he'd passed 17. He also felt different somehow, stronger perhaps, and he suddenly remembered the consuming pain he had felt on his birthday, the flames that he had felt lick his skin, despite the fact that the fire hadn't left the first floor. The unexplained fire.

Harry suddenly felt uneasy again.

"It is only a 25 minute walk." His father said. "We'll be fine."

Harry wondered if anyone else heard the lie in his voice.

But walk they did and Harry surveyed the new surroundings, different to England in so may ways, yet, not too different. However, something felt strange here. There was something that called to his magic, and to something else deep within that he had never been aware of before.

His eyes were drawn to a woman skulking in the shadows, her clothes dark, camouflaging. He could have sworn that her forehead was strangely furrowed, that her eyes seemed more yellow than white. He knew that he saw fangs shine in the moonlight. But while the creature seemed to look at the others with hunger, she looked at him with curiosity. He said nothing to her, or to his companions, and carried on. He didn't see his father watching him strangely.

A few minutes later they turned into Revello Drive and stopped outside number 1630. It looked like a nice house, Harry decided. Homely. It was painted white, with two floors and it had a large front garden. He noticed that all the curtains were drawn and that there was a strangely large rather ornate axe propped up against the wall.

"This is it." Rupert said. "This is Buffy's house." Then he turned to Harry. "I rented my house out, but I've already given the tenants their notice and they will be gone in a few days. It will be a bit cramped till then." Harry just nodded. Then, Rupert leading the way, they walked up the path, the girls getting more excited with every step. Why are they being brought here? He wondered to himself. But he had no time to think as Rupert knocked on the front door and it opened.

A young girl with long brown hair smiled widely, and with a cry of "Giles!" flung herself at Harry's father, who hugged her tightly, if a bit uncomfortably. Then he entered the house with the three girls. With a deep breath Harry followed, closing the door behind him gently.


	3. In the morning I hope will never come

**Disclaimer:Same as before.**

**Warnings:same**

**Pairings: yawns same.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed especially Kate, A Brighter Dawn, andwhitetigercubwho gave me loads of information on school in American. huggles**

**Grimauld Place, London, England. 08:30am Wednesday, 5th August, 2005**

No one was happy to be there. But then, since it was half eight in the morning that wasn't surprising. The disgruntled, sleepy eyed order members glared at the few people that dared to be chirpy in the morning. Then, when he finally entered the room, they all glared at Albus Dumbledore instead. When, they noticed, however, that the familiar twinkle was gone from his deep blue eyes, they once again wondered what was important enough to warrant an impromptu Order meeting.

The man in question walked to the front of the room and conjured an armchair. Then, after sitting down, he surveyed the room seriously from behind his moon shaped glasses.

"I apologise," He said, "At calling you here so early and without warning, but an important matter has come to my attention."

All the Order members sat up straight, intrigued and worried.

"As you will all be aware, I decided to lessen the watch on Harry Potter this year, due to limited resources and more important ventures. This has turned out to be a grave error in judgement. Early this morning I received a fire call from Arabella Figg who had just arrived home from holiday. Four days ago the house of Harry's relatives burned down, killing his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin. Harry himself is said to have been taken to hospital bearing horrific injuries not caused by a fire. However, according to the hospital he discharged himself late last night, with consent form his Legal Guardian."

The room was suddenly filled with frantic whispers and horrified gasps, and it took two shots of red sparks from Dumbledores wand to settle the room.

"As you are all aware, Harry had no other relatives than the Dursleys, so I can only assume that this Guardian was an agent of Voldemort and that the boy-who-lived is now in enemy hands.

This is, of course, a matter of great concern and I have called you here to inform you that your positions may be changed. I want the people watching suspected Death Eaters to reallocate their time to searching for Harry. Knockturn Alley, I believe, would be a good place to start searching for information. Mundungus, I would like you to get in touch with some of your more…dubious contacts. Tonks, Kingsley, see if the Ministry are aware of the situation. If they are not, try to keep it that way. As soon as anyone has any information I want it brought to me at Hogwarts. You may go?"

As Dumbledore swept out of the room, mouth set in a grim line, people started to apparate out, until there were only three people left. Remus Lupin, Molly Weasley and Minerva Mcgonnagal. Their worry was plain on their faces for all to see, and they talked through the morning. There was only thing that they were adamant about.

"No one must know." Minerva said "He is the hope of our world. When people hear he has been captured there will be utter chaos, the Ministry is not stable enough to handle it."

The others nodded.

"I won't tell the children." Molly decided. "They don't need to know, it would only upset them. I'll have to stop them sending him letters as well. Dumbledores orders."

**1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California, 20:34 pm, Same day**

Harry stood nervously on the lounge freeshold as people said hello to his father, with numerous hugs and 'Giles's. Why they called him by his second name Harry didn't understand. He wondered if it was an American thing. It was only then that the people noticed the three girls.

"Are these…?" A pretty blond girl, around 20 years old, asked.

Rupert nodded. "These are three of the potentials. This is Molly." He said, pointing to the girl with the Cockney accent, a brunette with long pigtails, and a colourful pink jacket. "This is Annabelle." The red head waved. "And this is Kennedy." He finished gesturing to the last girl with dark wavy hair who was looking the group over with interest, especially a red head.

"Wow," A dark haired man said, "6 girls in one house. I am so glad I'm not living here. I'd never get in the bathroom."

"Well men don't really need to use the bathroom." A different blond said, "Girls have to, but men have penis's so they can go wherever they-"

"Thank you! Anya!." The man said.

The blond glared at him. "I was only saying Xander.

"Yeah well don't,"

"Just because you-"

"Hey" The girl who answered the door, Dawn, said, cutting through the argument. "Who's the guy?" Xander and Anya stopped fighting, and they turned to look at Harry, who blushed lightly and look at the floor.

Rupert looked at him, took a deep breath, and answered. "This is Harry. My son."

The entire room was silent. They all stared at Harry, gob smacked, and after a few minutes he started to get annoyed.

"It's not polite to stare." He said stiffly, glaring heavily. They turned away embarrassed, except Anya, and the blond Harry guessed was Buffy.

"You never told us you had a son Giles!" Anya stated happily. "He's extremely cute, looks nothing likes you. His mother must have been pretty."

"She was," Giles agreed, ignoring the unintentional insult.

Buffy was still watching Harry, expression inscrutable. "Why didn't you tell us you had a son?" She asked quietly, tone not entirely friendly.

Giles sighed. "It was a rather recent development I'm afraid." He said, "We only met yesterday.

"Does he…?" Buffy asked.

Giles shook his head, automatically knowing what she was asking. "No. We…haven't had time to talk."

"About what?" Harry asked, glancing suspiciously between the two.

"Nothing important," Rupert answered quickly. Too quickly Harry thought, watching him intently. The red head stepped forward, smiling.

"Well it's nice to meet you Harry! I'm Willow, that's Xander, that's Anya, that's Buffy and that's Dawn."

"They're sisters." Anya interjected helpfully. "Oh, and Andrews tied to a chair in the basement, but you don't need to worry about him." The others stared at her in horror, faces aghast.

"What?" She asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow and asked with a half smile, "Is there a reason he's tied to a chair or is it some weird sexual fetish of his?"

Now they all stared at Harry again, mouths wide open, especially his father. Anya seemed oblivious.

"Oh, he killed his best friend so we tied him up, but speaking of sexual fetishes with chairs, a few hundred years ago there was this guy who got strangely aroused by-"

"Anya please! Stop! Now! Just, don't speak at all!" Xander said hurridly, stealing a glance at Harry's curious yet amused face.

"Fine!" Anya huffed. "I'll go guard Andrew; he appreciates my stories." And with that she left the room pouting.

"Righttttt…" Xander said, "Ummmmm…She's a bit mad. Don't listen to a word she says."

"I'll keep that in mind." Harry replied. Inwardly, however, he wondered if she was the only one there who was actually telling the truth.

"Why don't you show the new arrivals where they're sleeping Dawnie?" Willow said. "The girls can bunk in with me, and if you share with Buffy for a while Giles and Harry can share your room."

"I don't want to be any trouble…" Harry said quietly, "I'll be fine on the floor or something."

"No." Buffy said, "It's fine really. You guys are probable tired, jet lag and all, so if Dawn could get the spare bedding out you guys could sleep if you want."

The three potentials looked extremely happy at the prospect of sleep, though Harry was less pleased. It was reminding him of the excuses the Order used to make him and his friends leave when they were discussing something important, usually himself. But he went anyway, clutching the carrier bag that held a pair of pyjamas his father had bought him at the airport.

The adults waited until the arrivals had left before they sat down, shutting the door.

"So," Buffy said, "Anything you might want to tell us?

Giles sighed and fiddled with his glasses. "It's not like I kept some big secret Buffy. His mother was a girlfriend of mine 17 years ago. I believe she had left home after an argument with her parents, what about she never specified, and she ended up staying in Bath for a year. We kept bumping into each other and became friends, then more. One day she was gone, with only a note saying that she was pregnant and that she had returned home. She never contacted me and I could never trace her, probably due to the fact she never gave me a second name. Her and her new husband were killed a year later and Harry was sent to live with her relatives who weren't aware that James Potter wasn't his father and probably wouldn't have bothered telling him even if they did know. They were killed in a fire a few nights ago and social services contacted me."

"How did they know how to find you?" Willow asked.

"Birth certificate. Lily had put my name down and they just searched the records."

"So he knows nothing about slaying and vampires and stuff?" Buffy asked.

"No, except… This morning, when we went to his relatives house to collect his friends he was visited by the First."

They all gasped, shocked and a little scared.

"Are you sure?" Xander asked, "I mean, why would it visit him if he doesn't know anything?"

Rupert frowned. "That's exactly what I've been wondering. Even stranger is the fact that while Harry refuses to talk about it, there is no fear, no scepticism, no talk of hallucinating. It's as if he was aware things like this happened, and that it's normal for him. Not to mention the other unexplained things…"

"Like?"

"Like the fact that no one has any idea where he was schooled. Since his birth certificate was filed it should be impossible for them to lose track of him, and yet there is no record of schooling after Junior school. Also, he seems to have an impossible rate of healing. When I first saw him he was on a ventilator since his breathing was so erratic due to a punctured lung. When I saw him again all the wires had been removed and doctors informed me that somehow, and they were completely baffled, the lung had healed in a few hours.

"And…" Giles was silent, thinking heavily on how to explain it. The others were watching him intently, not sure what to make of what they were hearing. He tried again.

"When we left the airport we passed a vampire. Nothing unusual there of course, this is the hell mouth after all, but while it looked at the girls and I as if we were food it looked at Harry…differently, curious almost. There was no hostility, no predatory look, just curiosity. And Harry just looked at it normally. I mean, it was obviously a vampire, it was in vampire face and the fangs were plain for all to see, yet he wasn't fazed at all."

"So," Xander said, "What do you think it means?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. But…there was always something strange about Lily, something not quite…normal. She, too, managed to do extraordinary things, things that I now would recognise as magic. But a magic the likes of which I never saw again. Yet, unless Harry talks to me, I have no way of finding out. And Harry really doesn't act like he's going to trust anyone. But he has good reason not to."

Giles face was incredibly sad now, his tone imbued with anger. "His home life was hell. He won't trust easily. And he knows no one here, he didn't even know I was his father until two days ago."

Giles took a sip of his glass of Brandy, savouring the alcohol, then spoke again.

"Have you found anything out about the first?"

They all shook their heads and Willow answered, "I've searched the internet and nothing came up."

The Watcher nodded. "I didn't expect it to. The First predates written word, and the only information about him was held by the Watchers Council, and even that is extremely limited."

"Was?" Xander asked.

Strangely, Rupert blushed, ducking his head minutely. "Yes, well, I had a feeling that they wouldn't be safe where they were so I…borrowed them for safe keeping."

"Giles!" Buffy exclaimed, mock scandalised, "You stole from the Watchers Council! Shame on you!"

"Well I was correct wasn't I? The Headquarters was blown up."

"Blown…up?" Buffy repeated shocked.

Rupert nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so. So much knowledge was lost, and so many Watchers were killed. Luckily many don't reside at the Headquarters, so the Council still exists, but it will take a long time to be properly reformed, and we don't have that time at the moment. "

They sat in severe silence for a long while before a thought suddenly sidled slyly into Ruperts brain. "Where's Spike?"

The gang looked at each other. "Don't have a clue." Xander answered, a bit too happily. "Blondie disappeared."

"We think the First took him to open the Seal or something." Willow said.

"Great." Giles muttered, "Absolutely spiffing!"


	4. I just want to watch the sky and sun

**Disclaimer:I own only what I created, blah, blah, blah...**

**Warnings:Child abuse, rape, SLASH and I think that's it for now**

**Pairings:Harry/Spike(?) Buffy/Angel, other canon ones.**

**I really wanted to introduce Spike but it will almost definitely NOT be next chapter. Perhaps the one after? I'm just trying to get every thing set up and he's captured at the moment.**

**As you've probably realised I'm not completely following the episodes. For a start this started in July whereas in Buffy it was Christmas time. Some things are going to follow Buffy, others aren't, I'm just making it up as I go along.**

**I have to say this is the fastest I've ever done a story. I had half of this chapter written by the time I posted the last one. It just seems to flow. Of course, I have like 5 other stories to update as well, but at the moment this one is stealing all my creativity. And my chapters are way longer than usual. On all my other stories I do around four pages per chapter. The chapters for this one are averaging at five and a half. This chapter is 8. So, you're all very lucky!**

**Thank you to lunadea21 who also helped with the American schooling. I should get round to using it next chapter.**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. It makes me want to update even faster.**

**Three weeks later, 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California, 09:47am Monday, 28th August **

Harry awoke to sunlight streaming through the window and clattering downstairs. He felt a brief flash a panic before he remembered where he was, then looked around the room, reassuring himself. It wasn't large, but wasn't overly small either. The walls were cream, covered with posters of bands and boys, the furniture a light wood. There was a TV on a table in a corner and a small bookcase against a wall. He had a small suspicion that most of the books had never been opened.

He climbed up out of the makeshift bed that was on the floor and noticed that the bed was already emptied and made. He hadn't even heard his father come in. He wanted to take a shower but instead, suspiciously checking the room for people hiding in the shadows, cast a cleaning charm over his body and hair. Then he picked up the clothes he had been wearing the since he had gotten there and dropped them on the bed, disgusted. They had been Dudleys once, of course, and were 10 sizes too big for him due to Dudley's morbid obesity and his own anorexic looking frame, a result of starvation and malnutrition. They were also ragged and frayed, and unravelling because of the amount of cleaning and fixing charms Harry had cast on them. It had not been something he normally noticed, having been used to it and never leaving the house during his time at the Dursley's anyway. However, he was conscience now of the fact that he was at someone else's house, and he didn't want to look like a tramp.

Of course, all his money was in his Gringotts Account, and while he was aware that he could access it from any Gringotts in the world, he didn't know where there was one in America, and he had no idea who to ask. And he didn't want to ask his father for money. They had been in America for just over 3 weeks, and yet they had barely talked to each other. It was almost unbearably awkward. Anyway, there was something going on that was keeping everyone on edge, his father especially, and he wasn't going to waste his time with a shopping trip. He sighed. _Guess I have to make do with magic._ And while tailoring charms were not his strong point, he was definitely proficient in them. In the past year at Hogwarts his clothes had got ripped and destroyed more times than he could be bothered to count. It was then he remembered.

He didn't have a wand.

But perhaps…perhaps he didn't need one. Minor wandless magic was quite common, and while some tailoring charms were rather advanced, it still should be possible. Anyway, there was no harm in trying.

He laid the short sleeved ragged black T-Shirt straight on the bed. Then he stared at it. Then he stared at it some more. He had no idea how to do this. _Oh well, guess I'll have to improvise._ He laid his hands down flat onto the T-shirt and imagined how he wanted it to look. Much smaller, new looking. He kept the image in his head and willed his magic to work. Just as he was about to give up, he felt a tiny spring of magic well up and swim through his body. He used his hands as conduits, and the magic spilled out. He gasped at the euphoric feeling of the magic running through him, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

When he opened his eyes, a brand new black T-Shirt lay on the bed. Harry grinned wildly, picking it up and feeling it, checking the seams, laughing when he realised it was perfect. He hadn't used his magic properly since he left Hogwarts and it seemed to want to be used. He put the shirt down and turned to the threadbare brown trousers, mad out of God only knows what, some horrible, itchy material bought especially for him. He glared at the trousers as if it was their fault he had had to wear them for so long, then placed his hands on them.

The magic came to attention straight away this time, faster than he could believe. Too fast, and too much. It crashed out of him, beyond his control, and flowed into the trousers and the shirt next to it and onto the bed, weaving itself into the very threads of the fabrics. He almost screamed, whether in pain or pleasure he didn't know, and his body crumpled onto the floor, exhausted. A few seconds later, however, he felt the magic inside him regenerate to fill the space left by the magic he had used, and he suddenly felt rejuvenated, more so than he had when he had woken up.

He pushed himself up off the floor and looked at the trousers. Invariably, however, his attention was drawn to the shirt next to it, and to the bed. He couldn't stop a gasp escaping his lips as he stumbled backwards.

**The Kitchen **

Buffy held a bag of ice cubes to her head as Giles cleaned the cuts on her arms and face. The three potential slayers were happily munching on breakfast, interestedly watching what had long since become normal routine for the Scooby gang.

"What were you fighting?" Kennedy asked curiously, seeming a bit glad to finally have something interesting happen. Annabelle and Molly looked up at the question

"Ummm…I'm not actually sure. Giles, help me out here?"

He sighed and put a plaster on the last cut, before turning to face the group, which also consisted of Willow, Xander, Anya and Dawn. "I believe it was a Turok-Han, the Neanderthal equivalent of a Vampire. They're animalistic and vicious, and are the vampires that vampires fear. I…I had always thought them a myth. They are an entirely different race to the run of the mill vampire. Stronger, faster and much harder to kill. Unlike normal vampires they have never been human, and so retain no traits of humanity at all. It's most likely an agent of the first."

"But it can still be killed right?" Willow said hurriedly, noticing the terrified looking on Annabelle's face. "I mean, everything can be killed can't it? It's still dustable…Right?"

Giles rubbed his nose. "I believe so, but…The council records say extremely little about them. Since written word began no slayer has face one. They're virtually unknown."

"Well," Buffy said glaring at the wall, "Isn't that just peachy!"

Annabelle looked frantically from one Scooby to the other. "I thought we were supposed to be safe here with you! How can we be safe wh-" "Ahhh!"

They all jumped as Willow let out a small scream.

"Ah, Will, what was that?" Xander asked as Willow rubbed her arms, frowning.

"I'm not sure. I just felt a major burst of magic. Someone's doing some awesome magic!"

"Close by?" Rupert asked frowning as everyone else looked around suspiciously.

"Yeah. It felt like it was coming from upstairs."

Dawn frowned. "But the only one upstairs is…"

"Harry!"

Willow and Rupert raced up the stairs, followed by Buffy with Xander, Anya, Dawn and the Potentials bringing up the rear. They barged into the bedroom, where Giles and Willow froze as they caught sight of the bed. Unfortunately, the other couldn't see the bed and therefore didn't stop, instead running straight into the Witch and the Watcher, resulting in a domino effect as they all fell into a heap at Harry's feet.

"I know I'm incredible and all that," Harry said grinning, "But there really is no need to prostrate yourselves before me."

They scrambled up, embarrassed, and stared at him. More specifically, at the clothes he was wearing.

"When did you get new clothes?" Willow asked.

Harry's eyes widened. "Last week when I went out."

"Where from?"

"Ummm…Why do you care anyway? They're just clothes." But he looked down at the black, leatherish trousers that seemed to give off a faint magical aura, and the black, tight T-Shirt that, while form fitting and extremely flexible, felt rock solid when touched, and silently conceded that perhaps they weren't just clothes. Not that he was going to admit it

"Well I know for a fact that that bed is not the bed that was there yesterday."

Harry looked at the bed and blanched. Where it had once been a normal double bed with white, cotton bed covers, it was now a large four-poster bed. It looked to be made out of Mahogany, with gems that looked suspiciously like rubies fixed into the posts. Wine coloured voiles hung down, and the sheets and covers were black silk, with the numerous cushions red and black.

He turned to the group and tried to smile nonchalantly. He failed. Miserably.

"Ummm…Mail order?"

No one laughed at the lame excuse. Harry bit his lip, eyes automatically flicking to the exits, marking the quickest escape route. He took a step back when Rupert stepped forward.

"I think it's time we talked Harry."

Harry sneered, emotional defences slamming into place. "Good for you, 'coz I don't."

"Harry…"

"Don't bother! When I needed a father, you weren't there! I don't need a father anymore. I don't need anyone anymore! I haven't for years!"

And with that he ran to the window and jumped.

Everyone raced forward and peered out, but he was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, a supposedly normal, human boy had jumped straight out a first floor window and been uninjured.

Normal human boy? They were definitely starting to wonder.

**Sunnydale, California, 20:57pm Monday, 28th August **

Harry walked along the street, scuffing his newly created boots along the floor. He didn't know why he felt guilty for shouting at his father. Why should he? He was fed up with people messing with his life. And why the hell should he tell them his secret when they wouldn't tell him theirs? He would actually be breaking the law if he told them. He bet they wouldn't be.

But, as much as it annoyed him, he did feel guilty. He hadn't lied, no. Rupert hadn't been there when he had needed someone, and he could get by on his own now, he'd had to, but…It wasn't Rupert's fault really and…he kinda…wanted a father. He didn't want to want a father. But he did.

Harry supposed they might be worried, though he felt a small vindictive pleasure at the thought. He had been gone all day and they didn't know how well he could take care of himself. Hell, he didn't even know. He didn't know why his power level had raised, why he healed so much quicker, why he was far stronger and faster than he ever had been. He had jumped out of a first floor window and landed on his feet. And it hadn't hurt at all!

Truthfully, however, he was bored. He'd walked around the whole of Sunnydale, which, admittedly, wasn't much. He'd had a quick look at the school he would be attending in a week, had seen the Bronze, a club which Buffy and the gang spoke of, had even seen the Magic shop that was owned by his father. Then he had sat in the park for hours, just swinging and swinging and swinging and going roouuunnndd the roundabout until he felt dizzy enough to keel over.

He was walking back to the park now, after a quick walk to stretch his legs. When he got there it was empty as it had been for the majority of the day, and he sat down on the swing, pushing off the ground gently. The swing creaked, though it was barely moving, just a relaxing motion.

"It's lonely in the world isn't it Harry?"

He didn't acknowledge the voice. He'd decided to ignore it until it got bored and went away.

"But if I went away you'd be completely alone wouldn't you? And I know how much you hate being left all on your lonesome. I know how you'd huddle in the corner of your cupboard and cry pretty little tears that stained crimson as they mixed with the blood on your face. How you'd beg for someone, anyone, to find you, to love you, to chase away the demons in your dreams."

He didn't acknowledge the tear that rolled down his cheek as a honeyed voice spilled his worst moments from crimson lips.

"I'm the only one that's ever been there for you. When you lay bruised and broken on the cold basement floor I stole your fears away. When you were lost and oh, so alone, I whispered the secrets of the shadows in your ears. I cellotaped up the cracks in your fragile little mind, glued together the shattered pieces of your blackened soul. I am all you have Harry. There has only ever been me. Who will hold you together if I leave child?"

Harry didn't answer. He drew his knees up and hugged them to his chest, tasting the salty, crystalline tears on his lips. But someone else answered for him.

"I will!"

He heard the Voice hiss in anger and Harry's head shot up to stare. He almost flinched back at the anger and hatred on his father's face, before he realised it wasn't aimed at him. It was aimed at the Thing, the Thing that had once again taken the form of Lily Potter.

"Hello Rupert," It said, lips down turned in a frown. "I'm very disappointed in you. You failed our son, the son I died to protect. Look what you did to him." It reached out an incorporeal hand as if to touch Harry, who flinched back violently and stumbled off of the swing. His father held out a hand to him, and he went to it, finding himself pulled close to his father.

"Leave!" The Watcher said, voice clear and strong, though anger and fear ran through it. "Leave my son alone and be gone. You don't belong here. Leave!"

The First morphed again, into the form of an unbelievably ugly, definitely dead vampire that Giles remembered all to well. "You think you can order me to leave mortal? Such arrogance! I am the First evil! I am that which came first, before all else that is feared on Earth. I am the Original, the strongest, the one that no mortal has ever defeated! You have seen evil, but I am what created that evil! And you have the audacity to order me?"

The First laughed, angrily and evilly, it's perverse grin out of place on The Masters face. "I would have had you killed for harbouring the Slayer and the Potentials, but now… now I'll have you tortured for your arrogance, and for taking the child from me. But that will come later, when I have drowned the sweet child in the hate and despair that suffocates the Earth, when he crawls to me on his knees and begs for me to make it stop. For now…well…another dies tonight. Perhaps they'll learn that they can try to run from Evil, but that they will never escape it."

And with that, after blowing a kiss in their direction, It faded, leaving the two to stand horrified.

"Another? Who…"

"One of the girls!" Harry said suddenly. "It spoke earlier of…of destroying the line of Slayers, starting with those with the potential."

Rupert though this over frantically. He had not been informed of any new Potentials arriving, so that would mean it was one of the three already there. But which? Then suddenly he remembered. His mind went back to the increasingly erratic and hysterical behaviour of one of the girls, her deepening pessimism and the way her eyes constantly flitted to the door.

"Annabelle. But…what can we do?"

Harry worried his lip. He knew the spell that could help, but he had nothing to perform it with. Then, as a split second decision, he once again decided to try improvisation. Ignoring his father's questions, he grabbed a stick off the ground and placed it on his palm. Then, rather reluctant after the earlier loss of control, he reached for his magic and channelled it into the stick.

"Point me!"

It spun on his hand, Rupert watching in shock, and eventually it stopped, pointing North. "Right then." Harry said, sounding far more confident than he felt, "North it is."

"But Harry, if we find her we're likely to find the Turok-Han as well." Harry didn't answer. He had no idea what a Turok-Han was, and so just decide to deal with it if they met it. It was only later that he thought perhaps he should have asked.

**The Street, outside Sunnydale Printing Factory (Abandoned), 21:43**

Annabelle ran frantically, clutching the small silver cross in her hand. It had been a gift from her watcher, and it was comforting, if not that likely to save her life. Her heat beating in he chest, her pulse in her mouth, she ran though her body was begging her to stop. She looked behind again, seeing nothing, and ran round a corner. She didn't even have time to scream as a cold, clammy, grey hand grabbed her neck and lifted her off the ground. She struggled, limbs flailing, as she chocked while her lungs burned.

The Turok-Han just made an expression reminiscent of a sadistic smirk and tightened it's grip. She could see pretty little spots in front of her eyes, and knew enough to know that her brain wasn't getting the oxygen it needed, to know that she was being strangled to death. Her vision started to darken, her thoughts became random and disjointed, and just before her heart stopped and her body went limp she heard a word screamed.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Turok-Han was flung backwards and slammed into the wall of the factory, Annabelle's body crumpling to the floor, limp, like a rag doll.

"What is that thing?" Harry asked Rupert urgently, eyes wide with fear.

"It's…It's a Turok-Han."

"That's not helpful!" Harry exclaimed as his thoughts became more frantic. He could see the thing getting up.

"It's a vampire but stronger and faster. A sort of…Ubervampire if you will."

"Great, bloody brilliant. As if normal vampires aren't hard enough to kill already, there has to be a stronger one."

And yet, while his mind was frantic, his body was tensed. But not with fear. Adrenaline rushed through him in anticipation of a fight, his body ready, his magic pooling at his fingertips. There was a strange, animalistic part of him that was looking forward to the fight.

"Stay back." He told his father.

"What!" Rupert spluttered, "There is no way in hell that I am letting you face that thing."

"You have no choice." Harry answered calmly, voice deeper, more self-assured than usual. "It will kill you in a second. Me? I think it will find me more trouble than it expected. Stay back."

He walked forward, eyes always on the Ubervamp that was watching him predatorily. It ran towards him and he dodged instinctively, faster than humanly possible. He ducked the fist that he sensed could tear his heart straight from his chest, and kicked out. The Ubervamp grabbed his leg and threw him backwards so that he landed in a heap on the floor, his head hitting the pavement with a resounded crack. For some reason, it didn't hurt as much as it should have. He did a backwards roll, coming up onto his feet, and jumped back as another fist swung towards him, gasping as it kicked him in the stomach, flinging him so that his back slammed into a lamp post. He spun out of the way of another punch, and the UberVamp's fist hit the lamppost instead, leaving a fist size dent.

Taking advantage of the vampire's momentary surprise, he raised his hand and shouted "Confundus!" It hit the vampire who reared back and Harry backed away, trying to think of a spell to actually kill the creature. They had dealt with vampires in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but not extensively. The only spell that had been offered was Solaris, and that took time to cast, time Harry most definitely didn't have.

He swore under his breath, and just as he heard footsteps run onto the scene, he shouted one of the first offensive spells he had learnt.

"INCENDIO!"

The Turok-Han screamed, though whether from pain or anger Harry didn't know. The flames grew and grew, consuming the body completely, and Harry had to move out of the way when the UberVamp ran towards him. It seemed to take an age for the vampire to die, but eventually, after a lot of screaming, the thing crumbled into dust.

Harry looked quickly at the Scooby gang and the Potentials, not noticing that his nails had become claws, that his canines were much larger than before, that his eyes were glowing strangely. He ran over to Annabelle's body. He grabbed her wrist and felt no pulse, so he laced his hands together and placed them on her chest before breathing into her mouth. The CPR failed.

"Harry, she's dead. You can't save her." Willows voice was low and soothing, but the sobbing of Kennedy and Molly belied the horror the group felt.

"DAMN IT!" Harry screamed, looking up to the dark sky. "They always die," he whispered, suddenly subdued. "Always…"


	5. The stars are out I do believe

Disclaimer: I own only what I created, blah, blah, blah...

Warnings: Child abuse, rape, SLASH and I think that's it for now

Pairings: Harry/Spike (Now definite), Buffy/Angel, Willow/Kennedy, Anya/Andrew(?)

I've finally gotten around to using the information I was given about schooling. Thank you so much again for that. I think I got his year right but I wasn't sure. If it's wrong please tell me and I'll go back and correct it. Harry's emotions are a bit volatile at the moment so he goes from one to the other quite quickly. I thought I'd put that here as his mood in this is quite…random? I dunno, but anyway…

Oh, and someone mentioned it sounded like SuperPower!Harry. It's not believe me. At the moment he's finding his power, but soon he will learn the consequences and limitations, whichI think are quite a lot. Actually, he learns some in this chapter. They're easy to spot...

Thank you all for reviewing! Ummm…Unfortunately there won't be another update for over a week because I'm going to France disgustingly early tomorrow morning with school for four days. Then I have the last two days of term which are always quite busy and, as I've said before, around five other stories up, though I'm only really updating two or three of them lately. BUT! This chapter is way longer than usual. I've been writing almost non stop since like half eight this morning and it's now 12:49am, but I wanted to have something up before I left. And I still have to proof read it. AND I still have to pack my bag for France! Someone shoot me now…

**Sunnydale, California, 10:30pm Monday, 28th August**

The body had been left at the morgue. Abandoned. They had left her name of course. And her age, her parents, a word about her personality. But they still left her there, to be burned or buried by strangers who didn't know her. But then, they didn't know her either.

Harry supposed it was for the best really. There was no one there (except himself of course) that really had the money to give her a funeral. And he guessed, though they still hadn't told him anything, that they didn't have the time to arrange one. Not to mention the inquires that they would receive as to why she had been in America with no family and how she had died.

But Harry still didn't think it was right. Perhaps it was just the thought of being abandoned after his own death that made it hard to stomach. Harry felt a strange affinity with the girl now that she was dead. Running from something she could never escape. It seemed that they had something in common after all.

Kennedy and Molly had taken the death worse than he did, which was strange since his mental state had been deemed precarious by some Psychologist he was made to see, especially when dealing with death. But Harry had seen death before, far too much death, and the girls had known only the death of their guardians. And even then they hadn't seen the bodies. They had been whisked away by Rupert first.

He took another sip of the tea that was warming his hands. He shivered as it flowed down his throat. So warm, and he felt so cold, and so exhausted. He wanted to lie down, sleep forever in a bed of flames, that licked at his skin, loving and caring and safe…But he knew they wanted to ask questions, and he, too, was intrigued at the strange happenings of Sunnydale.

Not that he was going to admit that anytime soon.

His father was sat next to him on the sofa, his brow furrowed while shooting worried glances at Harry. The other…Scoobies, as he had heard them call themselves, were scattered around the room, some sitting, others leaning against the wall. Maybe it was paranoia, but they all seemed to be watching him. He squirmed, uncomfortable, feeling an urge to just disappear, and looked back down at his tea. There was only a sip left, and he chucked it back, swallowed, then placed the mug on the coffee table and looked around as if to say '_Well?"_

Still no one spoke. Probably no one knew what to say. So, in a rare moment of pure impulsive confidence, Harry took the initiative.

"Are we just going to sit here or is someone actually going to tell me what is going on for once?"

His words were slightly bitter towards the end, and they jolted everyone out of their thoughts. Most of the gang looked towards Buffy, but Buffy looked at Giles who sighed before answering.

"I'm sorry Harry. It's just; I'm not entirely sure what to tell you that won't scare you."

Harry raised an eyebrow and graced them with a cynical smile. "Not much scares me anymore. I think it highly unlikely that anything you tell me will make me hop on a plane back to England."

"Still, I don't know how to put this."

It was Xander who spoke up with a solution that, actually, was rather obvious.

"Why don't you tell him the way you told us?"

Giles mulled it over in his head before nodding. Then he sat up straighter, pushed his glasses on, and turned to Harry.

"Have you ever heard the legend of the slayer?"

Harry thought over the question, frowning lightly. Then, surprising the other occupants of the room, nodded his head slowly. "I think so, at least in passing. But tell me again. I think it was a long time ago."

His father cleared his throat and in a definitely rehearsed speech, started to tell.

"Into each generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to fight the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. This person is Buffy. She was chosen at the age of 16 and has been saving the world ever since." "That must suck." Observed Harry. "Yeah," Buffy answered, "It kinda does." "But if it's 'one girl in all the world', why are you all here?" 

It was once again Rupert who answered. "Buffy is a rather…unorthodox slayer. Unlike those that have come before her she has friends who know what she is and help her. I am her Watcher. Watchers are members of a secret organization, the **Watcher's Council**, devoted to tracking and combating malevolent supernatural entities (and particularly **vampires**), primarily by locating individuals with the talents required to fight such beings and win. More specifically, Watchers are assigned to **Vampire Slayers**. Willow is an extremely powerful wiccan, a witch if you will. Anya is an ex-demon, a vengeance demon to be precise; she's human now, and mortal. Kennedy and Molly are Potential Slayers, girls who have yet to be called as the Slayer. Xander and Dawn are human, though Xander has been turned into various things and Dawn was a mystical key, and are integral to the working of the, um, gang." Harry nodded in understanding, though inside his head his mind was quickly trying to file the information away in the right categories. "What about this Spike that's been mentioned?" The gang looked at each other, and Harry got the feeling that this was a sore subject, or at least one that they hadn't wanted to mention.

"Spike," Rupert began, "Is a vampire. But please, don't jump to conclusions; he isn't a…normal vampire. You see, around three years ago he was captured by a government-sponsored military agency devoted to the study of vampires, demons and other unnatural species. They put an electronic chip in his brain which made him feel pain every time he tried to hurt someone. He eventually started to help us and recently acquired a soul."

"A soul?" Harry asked, "Why did he need to 'acquire' a soul, shouldn't he have one already?"

"Vampire's do not have souls Harry."

"Well that's strange, because they did the last time I checked. If they hadn't I would probably be extremely dead."

"I…I don't quite understand." Rupert said in shock, stuttering slightly. Harry suddenly wished that he had kept quiet.

"I…I've met a few creatures over the years. Including vampires. And they all had souls."

The others stared at him, mouths agape, and Buffy looked like she was about to speak before Anya cut in.

"You must have met a Master Vampire! They're less with the killing and more with the living."

"Huh?" Dawn asked, as confused as the rest.

"Don't you know anything?" Anya huffed, "You've been slaying for like, 7 years. And you Giles, I'm ashamed of you! Watchers are supposed to know all this."

Giles frowned. "Well I apologise most sincerely for not being omniscient. Could you please expand?"

Anya sighed loudly in mock annoyance. "The vampires we see daily are Common vampires. There's loads of them and they die easy, a lot are quite simple minded and it is rare that they keep any human instincts. They're animalistic and vicious, like bunnies. Master vampires are different. They're all with the mysteries and powerfulness. Don't die easily but most don't bother much with humans anyway. Look down on them, since they're such a puny species. ("Your human as well!") They have their own politics. And souls. They keep their souls, though…most become a little immoral over the years."

"And you know all this why?" Xander asked.

"I'm over 1000 years old. You learn a lot."

"Was the Master a Master?" Buffy asked, seeming a bit dazed in light of the new information.

"Yep!" Anya said, "But he was never nice to begin with, so being undead didn't make much difference. Except making him uglier, and more arrogant."

"Um, as interesting as this is," Harry started, "We've kind of gotten of track. Where is Spike? And why does he have such a strange name?"

"Spike, we believe, has been kidnapped," Giles said, " And Spike isn't his real name. His real name is William, but after he was turned he was nicknamed William the Bloody, and then Spike due the way he killed his victims."

"I'm not even going to-, wait, kidnapped?"

The gang all looked at each other.

"This wouldn't happen to do with the Thing that keeps taking the shape of dead people and following me around would it?"

"Yes, unfortunately it would." His father answered.

"Keeps following? How long is that?" Dawn asked. Everyone looked at him again. Harry shrugged, uncomfortable, but cast his mind back.

"I think…I think it was a long time ago. I remember, when I was little, I used to see someone. Sometimes it looked like my mum, sometimes my dad, the old lady across the street who died of heart failure, the black Labrador puppy I saw get run over. I was too young to understand what I was seeing. I didn't even know it was strange really. I had no friends to compare my life to, and I already knew by that point not to mention anything different around Them. And it said, the First or whatever it calls itself, that it had always been there for me when no one else was. But I think it went away for a while as I got older and stopped believing in strange things.

It must have been two years ago that it came back again. I…my mentality was not at it's most stable, and I was suffering from minor depression. Since I was seeing someone who had died recently the nurse put it down to grief. I wasn't convinced, but…the visits weren't frequent, weren't harmful, and at some of my lowest points I welcomed them. It made me feel less alone. And It was kind, and It was something to hold onto.

Last year it was around even more, but it didn't stay in one shape. It switched between people I had known, people I hadn't and sometimes…sometimes it was me, which I don't get since apparently it only takes the shape of the dead and I'm very much alive. But it became less kind as well. It whispered horrors in my ears, showed me images of utter destruction, and filled me with the pure terror and hate and despair that rules the Earth. It made me cry and scream and curl up and beg for it to leave me alone."

Harry looked panicked, eyes flitting everywhere as if the First was in the room, hyperventilating and speaking far too fast. His father came over and put a hand on his shoulder, but Harry flinched away violently and backed himself into the corner of the room, slowly calming down. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and detached, as if he was just retelling a story he had told a thousand times before.

"It would slowly bring me back from the edge that it pushed me over. It would sing soft promises to me, that if only I would give in, join It, love It, then I would never want for anything. I would never feel hurt or scared or despairing. I almost gave in. But…I could see malice glittering behind it's beautifully crafted mask, and while I may have been volatile, severely depressed and self isolated most of the year, I wasn't stupid. It wasn't like I had anything to lose anyway."

There was silence, oppressive and awkward, and Harry wanted to break it, wanted to run and hide and sleep…oh Gods he wanted to sleep, he felt as if he would collapse any moment.

"Why though?" Willow asked, "Why you?"

Harry thought of all the things he could say as answers. He was Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. He, according to Dumbledore, had power to rival Voldmort. He was rich and, once he learned how to use it, would have great political power. And yet they wouldn't understand his answers, and Harry didn't think they were right. Perhaps it was to do with his magical power, but not completely. There was something else…so he gave the easiest answer.

"I don't know…"

"Great," Buffy said, "Because that's helpful."

"Buffy!"

"Sorry…I… It's not your fault. I'm just tired, what with the First and the Ubervamps and the Bringers."

"Bringers?" Harry asked.

"Oh! Those freaks in the black robes?" Kennedy exclaimed.

"Yeah, with the hoodies and the crazy alphabet eyes. I didn't see. I just heard that…" Molly said.

"Yep, that would be them."

"What about the magic you did earlier," Willow said, having not looked away from Harry, "Could that be why it's after you?"

"Perhaps."

"Just perhaps?"

"Yeah," Xander exclimed, "What was that you did? It was pretty cool."

"Like Superman cool, except without the flying and more magic."

This time everyone turned to look at Andrew who was nodding eagerly.

"You are such a geek." Dawn said.

"What are you even doing here?" Xander asked, "You're supposed to be in the basement."

"It was dark and lonely."

Harry was thankful for the distraction, hoping they would forget about their questioning. When he saw that Willow was still looking at him he sighed. Alas, no such luck.

"You didn't answer Xander's question. What was that?"

"Magic." Harry answered simply.

"Well I think we all know that Harry," Rupert said, "But it was unlike any magic we've seen."

"That's because it's-" Harry shot Anya a look that she interpreted to mean 'if you even think about telling them I'll _crucio_ you into insanity. Slowly.' Anya was impressed with his ability to speak so much with a look and as such decided to change what she was saying.

"ummm…because…"

"Yes…"

When in doubt, use shock tactics. "Because everyone else you've seen use magic was horny and Harry wasn't."

"I was not!" "How do you know?"

Harry blushed as he realised everyone had heard his question over Willow. "Not that I'm saying I was of course, I just meant…that…you shouldn't presume things."

Another uncomfortable silence.

"So… are you going to answer Xanders question?"

Harry thought about it, he truly did. He thought about the statute of Security, how much easier it would be if they knew, the fact that they had told him their secret. But his answer didn't change.

"No. I'm not. I can't explain."

His father looked at him pleadingly. "Harry please don't do this."

"Do what?" Harry snapped.

"Be difficult."

"Oh that's what I'm doing is it? Being difficult just to spite you?"

"Harry, I didn't say-"

"PISS OFF!"

And there it was again. The defensiveness that came out whenever someone came close to knowing something he didn't want them to know. Something that could possibly make him a little more vulnerable.

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!"

They had never heard Giles shout before, not like that at least.

"I'LL TALK TO YOU HOWEVER THE FUCK I LIKE!"

They noticed the way Harry's eyes were flitting again, a sign of nervousness. The way he was shaking slightly, though from fear or anger or shear exhaustion they didn't know.

They noticed the way Giles' face had shut down, become closed off. He had never had the most expressive face, but now it was stone.

"Harry, go to bed. Now."

His voice was quiet, filled with smouldering anger, and a small tint of desperation and exhaustion.

"YOU CAN'T ORDER ME-"

"Yes actually, I can. Whether you properly acknowledge it or not I am your father and Legal Guardian. As such, you will do as I say. Now go to bed. I've decided it's time to move into my house. And to discuss your schooling. This will be done tomorrow."

Harry stared at him. Rupert stared back. The anger and indecision was obvious in Harry's eyes. He entertained the idea of arguing. It would take only a few well placed comments to make his father feel guilty. But in the end he decided it really wasn't worth the time and energy. And truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep. So with one last glare that left the room in no doubt as to how he was feeling, he turned and went to bed.

**Sunnydale, California, 15:30pm Tuesday, 29th August**

He woke up slowly. His mind was hazy and lethargic, and the bed was so warm, but he felt refreshed, and the sunlight streaming into the room told him it was time to get out of bed. He turned and opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get rid of the sleepy dust. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, ran a hand through his shoulder length hair and looked at the alarm clock. The time 15:31 stood out in large, red, digital numbers, and Harry gaped at it in disbelief. He hadn't slept that long in…well…actually, he'd never slept that long.

He slipped out of bed wearing only his boxers and padded across the hall into the bathroom, where he proceeded to take a long, hot shower. He cleaned his teeth, got dressed and grabbed the bag of his stuff. Despite himself, he was excited to be moving out and…was strangely looking forward to going to school. Perhaps he was just bored from doing nothing for three weeks. He looked back at the room as he stood in the doorway, making sure it was tidy, grinning proudly as he looked at the ornate four poster bed. And to think, he had only got an E on his Transfiguration O.W.L. He never was good with the theory.

He walked calmly down the stairs and into the kitchen. He could hear Buffy and the Potentials in the basement, training as he now knew. But he didn't go down. He could hear someone in the lounge and people upstairs, though how he could hear that far away he didn't know. The sound of arguing reached his ears. Xander and another male. Harry guessed that it was the basement guy, Andrew. He had finally been untied, though to Harry he didn't look at all dangerous. However, looks could be deceiving. But in this case he didn't think they were. As the front door opened he turned to see who was entering. His father first looked into the lounge before turning to go upstairs, then he noticed Harry in the kitchen and changed direction.

Harry hoped that his father wasn't still angry from the night before. Harry had slept all his anger away.

"I see you've finally woken up." Rupert's voice was mild, as if commenting on the weather. Not that Harry waking up was any more important. Harry shrugged and poured himself a glass of water.

"You could have woken me up." He said, neglecting to mention that he would have been pretty pissed if his father had.

"Believe me, I tried. Six times if I remember correctly." There was something else in his voice now. A little anger and a lot of…concern? Panic? "We tried everything we could think of, noise, water, moving you. Willow even offered to do a spell, but we didn't want to risk it. Is this a usual occurrence?" His father asked.

Harry shook his head, confused. "No…I mean at the Dursleys I…I rarely actually slept, it was more…unconsciousness. But at Hog – School I always woke fine. It was Ron who had the problems."

"So this is another thing you 'can't' explain?"

Harry was shocked at how bitter his father sounded. Granted, his refusal to tell them anything about his world was sure to have annoyed them but, truly, this was a bit over the top.

"I can't explain something I don't know the answer to."

Rupert just looked at him steadily, and then shook his head, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

"Have you said goodbye?" His father asked him.

"Why?" Harry replied, "I'll probably see them later anyway, or if not tomorrow. Not that they care anyway…" He murmured. It was rather strange, if he bothered to think of it. He had been in the Summers house for over three weeks now and yet…he had barely spent any time with the people in it. Buffy and the potentials had been out 'patrolling' or training. Willow was either occupied with researching or Kennedy, Xander worked and had his own home, Anya…well, he had talked to Anya, though the conversations were some of the strangest he had had. Dawn had friends and liked to hang around the Scoobies, Andrew, kinda a given, what with the basement and tied upness. And Rupert. His father…

He hadn't spoken to his father at all really. A combination of avoidance and awkwardness meant they barely stayed in the same room as each other for longer than ten minutes. He could see Rupert looking at him sometimes, emotions splayed across his face. Gilt, sadness, protectiveness…love. And every so often his mouth would open as if he would finally speak to his son. But he never did, and Harry was left to languish in his own thoughts and feelings, another isolation that was forced.

Of course, he never gathered the courage to talk either. But he was the 'child', or so everyone liked to think, and children aren't supposed to make the first move with adults. Anyway, Harry didn't know what to say. He wanted to ask how this had come about. How he had had spent 17 years living a lie, how Rupert even knew his mother, how his mother had married his da- James. He wanted to ask what was happening to him, because Harry sure as hell didn't have a clue. But looking at his fathers face, the Watcher didn't know either.

"Well then," Rupert said, "It is time to go."

**61 Sylvan Avenue, Sunnydale, 15:57**

The drive was short, just over five minuets. As was habit, neither of them spoke a word. Rupert concentrated on driving and Harry stared rather forlornly out of the window, watching the suburbs pass by in a blur. They reminded him of Private Drive, perfectly manicured, not a blade of grass out of place. He didn't want to live in a place like that. It was with great relief that he read the sign as they turned into a different road. This road was different. Not less cared for, but less impossibly perfect, natural rather than artificial beauty.

They parked in the driveway of a medium sized two story house. Harry had no idea what to expect, and he was pleasantly surprised by the house. It wasn't large from the outside, but then there was no need for it to be. It had a small front garden, with a lawn in need of cutting and a few brightly coloured flowers dotted around the outskirts. Simple. Harry liked it. The house itself was brick with large windows. After spending so much time in a basement, windows were a must have.

He didn't realise that he had been stood there staring until his father asked him a question, a small smile on his face.

"Do you like it?"

Harry nodded, and gave a small smile in return, and they walked together up the drive. Rupert unlocked the door and entered, glancing around quickly to check it wasn't majorly different for some reason. When he saw that everything seemed alright he sighed happily. "It's good to be home!"

He ushered Harry further into the room and gestured around him. "This is obviously the lounge," He said. The room was good sized, with a rather old looking TV, two sofas, a coffee table, a bookcase and other unimportant thing that you would expect to find in a lounge. And some things that you wouldn't. They next visited the compact kitchen that held everything that was needed and the downstairs loo was pointed out. Up the stairs they went and down the landing until they stopped outside a closed door.

"My bedroom is the one opposite," Rupert said, "The bathroom is the door we passed. This is your bedroom."

Your bedroom. His own. Harry had never had his own bedroom. The cupboard under the stairs couldn't be considered a bedroom as much as a cage, Dudley's second bedroom was just that, Dudley's, and Harry hadn't spent much time there anyway. The basement – Harry didn't like to think about the basement. But whatever it was, it wasn't a bedroom. For starters, it didn't even hold a bed.

"Well, are you going to enter?"

Harry blushed lightly at once again having been caught day dreaming, and he lightly grasped the door handle, pushing the door open and stepping inside. He loved it as soon as he saw it, though he couldn't explain why. It was larger than Dudley's second bedroom, but not overly large. The walls were a cream colour, a blank canvas, and the carpet was dark beige. The bed was a double with white sheets and cream pillows. The curtains were a light blue, and the window looked out onto the front garden and the street.

Perhaps it was the light that did it. The room was bright and airy and…it felt like freedom. It felt like it was his and his alone, that now he had this room he always had a place to go. There was an empty bookcase, a built in wardrobe, and a chestnut chest of drawers. Harry knew he was smiling wildly, but why should he care when he had a home and a life and…a family, even if it consisted of one person he didn't really know.

The uncertain look had left his fathers face, and he smiled with Harry, happy that his son was happy.

"You can change it if you like." He said, "I didn't know what colours you liked so I did it neutral, but if there's anything you don't like you can-"

"No," Harry cut in, still smiling, "It's perfect. Thank you." He said sincerely. Then strangely, impulsively, and surprising them both, he leapt up and hugged his father, who instinctively hugged him back. Then he pulled away quickly, averting his eyes and going to stand at the window, while Rupert watched, smiling.

When Harry had sorted out his meagre belongings, which consisted of his invisibility cloak, photo album, pyjamas, toothbrush and hairbrush, they went downstairs. Harry was absolutely ravenous, somehow feeling hungrier than he ever had when he was starved. He helped his father cook a full English breakfast, and they ate, for the first time, in a companionable silence rather than an uncomfortable one. Then, after washing up, they sat down, Rupert with a cup of tea, Harry with a large glass of water.

"We haven't really talked about your schooling at all have we?" His father half stated, half asked.

"No, we never got round to it."

Rupert frowned thoughtfully. "What was your last school like? And come to mention it you haven't been official unenrolled, not that anyone actually knows your school to be able to contact them." The last part was said more to himself than to Harry.

Harry said nothing, and Rupert thought he wasn't going to answer at all, but than Harry took a deep breath, and slowly started to talk.

"I received a letter on my eleventh birthday telling me that I had a place at a prestigious boarding school in Scotland. My mum and d- James had gone there, as had all of James' family. Tradition I guess. Aparently my name had been on the list since birth and my parents had already paid the tuition fees.

The Dursley's, of course, didn't want to let me go, but the school sent someone down who…persuaded them to change their minds. I found out from the man, who became a Professor, that my parents had left me a trust fund and I found out more about them, more than I had ever known.

I've spent the last six years there, only leaving for the summer holidays. It had become my home."

"Then why did you agree to come with me?"

"Because it's not my home anymore. I used to feel safe there. Comfortable and familiar. My friends were there, people I counted on and loved. It took me a long time to realise that I had never been safe there, that the Headmaster had rarely had my best interests in mind, and that the friends I loved weren't all what they seemed. And the ones who were? They still didn't know me at all." _No one does._

"Then this will be a fresh start." Rupert said, eyes unknowingly filled with anger and protectiveness.

"Yeah, but I know nothing about American school. I know barely anything about America."

And then he remembered that he had known even less about the Wizarding world, and yet he had found himself fitting in and calling it home. Of course, he was there longer, but here he actually had a home. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"You'll be eleventh grade." The Watcher said. "I wasn't entirely sure as whether you would be eleventh or twelfth, but since you're so behind on their schooling eleventh would be best anyway."

"Seventh would probably be better." He muttered to himself. Rupert either didn't hear or ignored him.

"The school you will be going to is a public High School, like Secondary school but with an extra year and different names, and I think you start at a different age."

"Just the same then."

"Sunnydale High is just down the road. It's recently been rebuilt as it was blown up by Buffy. It's a long story involving the mayor turning into a giant snake. Anyway, it's still under construction, but it is being reopened this year. I must worn you, however, that due to it's placement (He didn't actually expand on what was wrong with the placement) strange things tend to happen there. Often.

There are classes on offer that are not available in England, such as Geometry, trigonometry, Drivers Ed., American History etc. It's best to pick subjects you have some experience with or knowledge of, otherwise you will be extremely behind."

Harry refrained from saying that since Hogwarts didn't teach muggle subjects, he was pretty much behind on everything.

"This will be your penultimate year of schooling, unless you go onto college or University. Any questions?"

Harry looked at him, eyes wide and a little panicked. "Where's the nearest cliff?"

"Why?"

"So I can jump off it!"

I'll explain more about the subject he's going to take later. And about the Phycologist.


	6. Lips mouth words that can't breach noise

**Disclaimer: I own only what I created, blah, blah, blah...**

**Warnings: Child abuse, rape, SLASH and I think that's it for now**

**Pairings: Harry/Spike (Now definite), Buffy/Angel, Willow/Kennedy, Anya/Andrew(?)**

**Let's just pretend that it hasn't been 5 months today since I last updated. I've been kinda busy, though I've had most of this chapter floating around my memory stick for ages. Ummmm…This chapter's rather random, didn't go where I expected it to, but I kinda like it. shrugs I guess I'll hear what you guys think once you've read it. And I know it's shorter than usual, but I have so much coursework to do over the Christmas holiday, and I've got a bloody science GCSE in January, despite being year 10. Stupid school. And cheers to everyone who's reviewed! I love every one…**

**And last thing: don't ask about the mans random accent, I was kinda bored…**

**61 Sylvan Avenue, Sunnydale, Wednesday 30th August, 01:23am**

He wondered if he felt happy or sad, then he wondered if he was feeling at all. He clutched the bed sheets tightly in his hands as he tried to fight -_fight, can't give in_- the desire to sail the sea of colour and dock he didn't know where. For it called to him –_Come darling…- _and ordered him –_You're mine- _ and still he tossed and turned and whimpered –_please help me_- and begged –_stop please!- _ and rode the waves of command and enticement, head just above the water. He scratched and clawed and tore at his skin, for it came from inside, swimming through red and blue rivers, inhaled and exhaled, multiplying with each _thud, thud, thud, _pump of the heart.

His mouth opened and he wanted to scream –_it's building and building and searing my insides-_ but no sound came out. He wriggled and writhed and gasped and held back moans, for it was pleasurable- _and hateful_- wholesome- _and binding_- everything _–and_ _nothing-_ all at once. It just…was. And he so badly wanted it not to be. He gripped the metal swirls that made up the headboard, and his nails dug into his palms as the metal warmed and warped, until it was no longer spirals but a mass of molten iron. He withdrew his hands –_sticky and dripping and weird feeling-_ and pressed his palms against his –_itching and burning and why does it hurt so?_-eyes. And then he did scream for it burned –_and burned and burned and oh gods save me-_ and his eyelids smouldered and melted and seared onto his eyes- _oh gods! Stop please! I can't see!...I'm blind-_ and burned through the lens.

And he screamed –_and screamed and screamed-_ and cried -_and sobbed and drowned the world in ruby tears- _and he was tangled and bound –_in skin and bones and bed sheets_- and tethered inexplicably to a soul not his own. Then he felt a hand on his skin –_solid and real and cooling-_ and though it was not the hand his body cried for, it was something that his mind could latch onto, along with the voice –_deep and familiar and scared-_that was speaking words and calling something…a name…_my name?_

His mind wrapped around the voice tightly, letting it flow through his body, and followed it back to level ground, to safety. And with a scream and a gasp and an ocean of tears, he opened his eyes. And woke up.

With a muted cry Harry scrambled away from the person on the bed, almost falling off in his haste to get away. He tasted salt on his lips, his tongue darting out to remove the tears, and his breath was ragged and chaotic, with no semblance of a rhythm. He blinked, for his eyes were blurry and covered in a thin sheen of water, and then with trembling hands wiped away the tears from his cheeks.

He looked up, slowly, cautiously, and his eyes fastened on the man in front of him who had saved him, who sat with worried eyes and outstretched hands. Harry inched forward a little, not yet having shaken off the fear of waking to someone near him, or the horror of the dream, nightmare, vision...thing. But he wanted the comfort the man offered, wanted the warmth of his body and the safety of arms wrapped around him, holding him, protecting him. Loving him. He wanted something familiar, something he knew, though nothing here was truly known to him, but the man was his, in some small fashion. The blood that ran through his veins ran through Harry's as well, their DNA matched in part. And that…that was enough, for it was more than Harry had ever had before.

"Daddy?" His voice was small and quiet and childish in a way, scared and nervous but filed with an unidentifiable emotion. Harry looked at his father with fearful eyes, but there was a trusting, loving, longing look that had never been there before. Harry needed his father, and more than that, he wanted his father. And that was all it took for Rupert to draw the quivering body into his arms, holding him tightly as he smoothed the midnight hair that was tinted with traces of Lily, whispering words and promises and sweet, sweet lies. And gods, Harry hated being lied to, but in that moment Harry loved his father for it, because people lied to him to control him. They had never lied to him because they loved him before.

Eventually, after minutes of listening to his father's steady heartbeat, Harry pulled away, wiping his face again with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His father asked. Harry shook his head, suddenly embarrassed.

"No, I…I just want to go to sleep."

Rupert's expression was incredulous and worried but, knowing it would do no good to push his son, nodded and stood. He watched from the doorway as Harry snuggled deep into the covers so that only his hair poked out of the top, curled up as tightly as possible with his eyes clenched shut. Then with a sigh, he left the room and shut the door.

After lying still for a few minutes to insure Rupert didn't return, Harry threw back the covers, intending to inspect the liquid that was dripping down his arms and soaking into his pyjama top. He took it off, folding it neatly and placing it on the bed, then opened the curtains to bathe himself in moonlight, though he seemed to be able to see strangely well in the dark.

There were deep scratches down his arms, nail prints visible where the blood started, and he touched them with shaking fingers. His mind flashed back to the dream and his hands flew to his eyes, eyes which were gloriously green, whole and seeing and not at all harmed. But his hands still felt sticky, and he held them up into the light, but there was nothing but a bit of grey discolouring. So, just to check, he went back to the bed and felt the headboard. He tore his hand away with a gasp. Where once it had been smooth, the metal was now bumpy, the imprints of fingers identifiable. It was not warped as he had dreamt, but it was not as it had been. Which meant the dream was real. And that meant…no, it couldn't be…And yet, he could feel it. Different to what he had with Voldemort, more seductive, calling him, made of something other than anger and hatred.

Harry wanted to go back to bed, to sleep away the things he had seen, but the dream had left him weak and shaking, and susceptible to what lay on the other side of the bond. Almost mechanically he changed from his pyjamas to his clothes, opened the locked window, and jumped landing soundlessly in the front garden, though a jolt of pain shot up his legs. The cool air felt heavenly on his skin, and it brought back a little bit of his consciousness, his control. He thought about turning back, going back inside, but it had been a long time since Harry had feared death and his curiosity and thirst for danger had been aroused. He would not turn back.

**Streets of Sunnydale, Same Day, 01:47**

He wandered through the streets, for now ignoring the pull and just aimlessly walking. It was a full moon but cloudy, so few stars were visible, and every so often grey wisps would entwine around the yellow orb, the stereotypical image of the night just before a werewolf howls. But there were no werewolves, or if there were they were not howling. The streets were strangely silent, as if all life was suspended with the coming of night. There were no teenagers, drunk and smoking and stoned to high heaven, fumbling and stumbling, and laughing even as death came to greet them in a mess of lights and screeching and screaming and metal on stone.

Then he thought of the creature he had seen his first night in Sunnydale, a vampire so blatantly hunting. Perhaps the inhabitants of the town were just smarter than they had seemed. No it had not seemed inclined to hurt him, and he wondered at that, for it certainly looked ready to eat the girls.

"Hey!"

Harry ignored the shout and kept on walking. It was not a good idea to stop and talk to people at three in the morning. Technically, it wasn't a good idea to be out at three in the morning, but Harry was always rather reckless. He tried to avoid crossing the line between recklessness and stupidity. His steps quickened as he heard footsteps behind him, faster than a walk. He resisted the urge to either look behind or run, but his walk was fast becoming a jog, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His pulse was in his mouth, his head, his stomach, everywhere, so loud he was sure the whole world could hear it. He ducked down an alleyway, then another, hoping he could lose his follower in a maze of dark corners. He could hear the footsteps receding, getting further and further away as he moved just barely short of a run, and a sense of relief flooded him. Just a little further, a little more distance, and then he was running towards the ground as chewing gum covered cement filled his head even as he realised what was happening. He threw his hands down to brace himself, but had lost the momentum needed to roll straight back to his feet. The air rushed down his throat and into his lungs and a crack resounded in his ears as his head hit the hard floor. He winced as his teeth went slamming through his lower lip, coppery blood filling his mouth and dripping onto the pavement. He pushed himself onto his back, too dazed to contemplate running, but as he heard footsteps far too close he tensed and tried to get up.

"You alright kid?"

It took him a few seconds of dazed blinking to realise what he was seeing, and then he almost laughed. The policeman frowned, concerned and a little confused. Harry suddenly remembered to answer. "Oh, yeah, um…I'm fine, really." He looked warily at the offered hand, but gingerly took it, letting the dark haired man pull him up. Harry noticed with curiosity the gold crucifix clutched in the mans hand. "Sorry for scarin' ya kid, just thought I'd warn ya about bein' out alone in this neck a the woods. It aint safe, 'specially for kids like you."

Harry glared, frowning. "I'm seventeen. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"17? Well I never…I mean no offence when I say ya don't look like it. But things roam these streets that ya couldn't imagine. It aint safe for no one these days. But since ya run from me, and quick ya were too, I s'pose ya know that already. D'ya parents know that yer out this late alone?"

"My parents are dead." Harry said stiffly, "But thank you for the warning."

"It's part o' the job." The man shrugged, "But stay out o' the alleys and cemeteries, and keep away from strangers."

The policeman walked of muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "specially those with fangs," and Harry stood still, trying to still his pounding heart. He lifted a thumb to wipe the blood from his lips but froze as he felt something sharp graze his skin. He pulled the hand away slowly, shaking slightly as his eyes focused on something which hadn't been there before. A claw. Ebony black and razor sharp, in the place of his bitten and chewed thumb nail. He looked, and saw the rest of his nails were the same, long and lethal and most definitely not human.

"The mortal is right child…" Said a voice from behind him, sly and seductive and feminine. He froze. "You shouldn't wander the night alone, especially not with such pretty pale skin." He felt freezing cold fingers trail along his neck, feather light touches. Then the body came closer, and he felt cool breath on his skin, ghosting over his ear. "You must hold the moon within you to glow so…" She, for it definitely was a she, murmured, the hunger in her voice audible. "Let me drink the moonshine…"

He tried to wrench himself away, but a hand tightened painfully around his throat, and he spluttered and gasped for breath, nails flailing behind him to tear at the arms and face of his captor. But though he felt blood –cold blood- run down his hand and burrow under his nails, the hand did not loosen, and the world blurred into pretty colours.

Then suddenly he was free, knees buckling underneath him as he gasped for precious air, hands automatically going to his throbbing neck. He felt fingers threading through his hair and a rush of fear went through him, eyes watering, as they yanked his head back at the roots, so that his mind was suddenly filled with twinkling stars suffocating behind a blanket of clouds.

"Don't cry pretty child. Umm…I could just gobble you up…" A high pitched, manic laugh. "But my master wants you all to himself..."

The hand left his hair, petting it once almost gently, and as Harry knelt shaking and frozen with fear on the street, listening to the footsteps draw away, he could only think of one thing. That despite his promises to himself, despite his strange new magic, he was as he had always been. Completely helpless.

Then he heard whispered words, carried by the wind and almost gone.

"From beneath you it devours…"


End file.
